


Roll the Dice

by stickydisco



Category: The Lone Gunmen (TV)
Genre: Fantasy Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 18:31:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16686718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickydisco/pseuds/stickydisco
Summary: Langly should have known better than to let Frohike have something as dangerous as novelty sex dice.





	Roll the Dice

Langly should have known better than to let Frohike have something as dangerous as novelty sex dice.

They technically belonged to Langly, though he hadn't acquired them by choice. Kimmy, disorganized bastard that he was, had asked to borrow a set of Langly's dice on D&D night only to pocket and lose them, _four weeks in a row_ , and Langly had finally snapped and demanded compensation. What he got for his trouble was a shitheaded smirk and a set of the kind of dice that middle-aged couples on the brink of divorce used to spice things up in the bedroom, one with a different body part on each side and the other with a not-always-advisable action to match.

Frohike had laughed, and Langly had whipped the cloth dice bag at his head from across the office and told him to kiss his ass.

“That's what I'll use 'em for,” Frohike had said, inspired. He'd caught the dice, of course, as they sailed through nowhere near their intended target. “Your insult vocabulary could use some expanding.”

Langly was still in a snit from that several days later, when the dice made a reappearance.

The inciting incident had started out as an offhand comment. From there it escalated into a conversation, then a heated disagreement, and from there it was an easy jump into a full-on knock-down drag-out verbal brawl. Frohike had read out a post from some cryptid spotting BBS he was subscribed to—Mermaid Sighted in Lake Michigan!—and scoffed. The beginning of the end.

"I'm just saying," Langly yelled, because there was really no de-escalating at this point, "all it takes is expanded lung capacity for a mammal to live underwater!"

Frohike barked out a laugh. "And insulation from cold, and a respiratory system that can be closed off, and underwater propulsion—"

"So mermaids are chubby and have closable nostrils! And I think the goddamn tail counts as propulsion!"

Byers had long since stopped trying to tune them out and buried his face in his hands.

"Why are you so riled up about this? You got the hots for fish or something?"

Langly rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer, even though he doubted he was going to get any more usable work done. "If you're not even gonna take this seriously then whatever. Kiss my ass."

He heard the dice clattering together in Frohike's hands before he realized he'd slipped up. So what if he overused the phrase 'kiss my ass', wasn't free speech one of the main tenets of their whole operation? Frohike should have taken it as a compliment towards his work that Langly felt free to say whatever rude garbage popped into his head, even if it was repetitive.

"Hey Langly." The dice skittered across the surface of Frohike's desk, loud in the cavernous silence left behind when Langly stopped hollering. "Lick my thighs."

As expected, the rest of the day was a complete wash. Langly made busy work for himself—he shuffled documents around, adjusted layouts down to the millimeter, sent himself emails so it looked like he was negotiating with a source. He made himself so many cups of coffee to kill time that he actually got jittery, bouncing one leg under his desk and flicking his eyes down to the computer's clock every half minute. He didn't take in a single word on the screen the entire time, his brain already boiling over.

Finally, blessedly, the silence was punctured by a heavy knock on the door. Frohike stood to check the monitor, and Langly willed himself not to look up so hard that he forgot to blink and his eyes started to burn. The rapid clicks and thumps of the locks had barely reached the end of their familiar rhythm when Jimmy exploded into the room, banging the door against the wall and startling Langly so much that his head jerked up anyway. Jimmy was holding a scrap of notebook paper over his head with a wide-eyed and delighted grin on his face, the kind that most people reserved for things like winning lotteries.

"I did it!" he said, just barely remembering to use his indoor voice. "We have a meeting with the security company snitch tonight!"

"That's fantastic, Jimmy!" Byers said, beaming at him, and Frohike even offered a high five. The security snitch piece was one they'd been working on for months, hitting dead end after dead end, until a very skittish employee cottoned to their investigation and reached out. Say what you would about Jimmy—and Langly usually did—but their public outreach had improved about tenfold since he signed on.

"We can't all go, though," Jimmy continued, his mood deflating slightly. "They're really nervous, especially with people they don't know..."

"I'll stay," Langly offered, trying not to sound too eager. "They know you and Byers already, right? And surveillance is Frohike's bag. Sounds like a dream team to me."

Frohike considered that for a moment, then turned to Jimmy. "That the address you got there?"

Jimmy handed it over eagerly, and Frohike glanced at it, nodded, then tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt, under his vest.

"Should we go early and have a look around?" Byers seemed eager to get going and chase down the lead. If he wasn't careful he was going to get Jimmy wound up again.

Frohike stood. "You read my mind. Langly, try not to burn the place down while we're out."

"No promises," Langly replied, turning back to his computer to stare intently at nothing in particular. He listened to the receding footsteps, willing himself once again not to look up. Someone said something about locking the door and he waved a hand over his head, hoping the gesture didn't somehow give away what he was planning.

He counted off 60 seconds—enough time for a vehicle to get to the end of the road—then sprang into action, leaving his desk chair spinning behind him.

First, the door. He fumbled it at first by going through the locks too fast, but managed to get through them after pausing to take a frustrated breath. Next, Frohike's desk. It was cluttered but not messy—there was a lot going on but everything had a designated place. Langly planted his hands on the narrow strip of clear space in front of the keyboard to lean over and look down at the whole surface. He only thought about whether or not he should wipe his prints off it for a moment before he spotted what he was looking for—the dice.

Frohike had moved them towards the back of the desk, where they wouldn't get in the way, but the hot red plastic stood out against the off-white and black of the papers that took up most of the space. Frohike must have been careful not to disturb them too much because the faces said exactly what he claimed they had. Lick thighs.

Langly tightened his hands so hard against the surface of the desk that his fingertips slid and squeaked. His stomach twisted with a combination of sour embarrassment—he had said that out loud, right in front of Byers—and a hot rush of arousal. He tried not to think too hard about how much the former was feeding into the latter.

He snatched up the dice before he could think about it any more, jammed them into his pocket, and made tracks for the stairs. He took them two at a time, but by the time he got to the top he was hard enough that it ached, both from the zipper of his jeans and just how fucking bad he needed to touch himself after fighting off a hard-on for hours.

His bedroom was the furthest one from the stairs and he cursed under his breath as he rounded the table. Who the fuck even designed this place? He slammed the door behind him mostly by accident, rattling the flimsy wood in the frame, collapsed face down onto his bed, and finally let himself groan into the pillow. It wasn't like he usually romanced himself or anything, but he definitely wasn't going to be messing around this time. He bunched his shirt up under his arms, yanked his jeans and underwear down around his thighs, and that was it. That was all he could take. He shoved his hands between himself and the mattress, grinding down into them hard and desperate. His hips stuttered and he moaned again through gritted teeth.

Lick thighs. Lick my fucking thighs. Christ.

...What would be the best way to do that? A bed was the obvious answer, definitely the most comfortable, Frohike leaning back on pillows with his legs open. Langly would have to kneel in front of him, lower his head. Would Frohike hold his hair back? Maybe he would like the way it would brush along his skin, trailing along behind Langly's mouth. Maybe he preferred to concentrate on one sensation at a time.

Langly's head was spinning, all the thoughts he'd shoved down during the day flooding back to the surface. For every idea he paused on it felt like there were ten more jockeying for his attention.

Kneeling was a good thought, one that sent a shiver across Langly's skin. Fuck, if he thought he could tear himself out of the fantasy for a second, long enough to get off the bed, he could kneel next to it and feel the cold floor pressing biting pain into his knees. The sensation would be agonizing enough with pants on, but they'd help cushion it a little, and he could get some kind of friction out of them—he wouldn't have to occupy a hand that could be on Frohike. But the idea of being naked on the floor, legs burning with cold and exertion, dick aching and untouched because he was so consumed by Frohike's legs, spread open just for him...

What would soft-worn, warm leather feel like against his lips? His tongue?

"Oh fuck me," he spat, rolling onto his back and finally wrapping a hand around his erection, bucking up into his fist with a strangled moan. His other hand found the pillow and tightened around the edge of it until his knuckles went white. "Goddammit!"

Naked on the floor in front of fully clothed Frohike, completely exposed and hard and burning under the eyes taking him in.

Frohike would say "lick my thighs", casually, just like he did after rolling the dice. Langly would lean in and land tongue-first at Frohike's knee, trace the subtle ridge of his inseam up towards his cock. Maybe he would be half-hard already.

The thought of Frohike being turned on just from looking at him made Langly's hips jolt up off the bed again, a whine escaping his throat. God he hoped that was true, he hoped Frohike had thought about him and gotten hot, looked at him and tried to picture his body.

When Frohike couldn't take the confines of his own clothes anymore he would strip, sit back down and repeat the command. Firmer this time, husky with arousal. Langly would do the same thing he did before. Start at the knee, slow lick upwards, following the line of soft skin where there was almost no hair. His hands could run over that hair, feel the soft scratch and the strength of his legs...

Langly swore and arched up again. Fuck, he was starting to feel his climax building in his stomach and tightening his balls. He needed to hurry the fantasy along if he was going to get to the end.

Once Frohike's thighs were marked up enough, peppered with bite marks and hickeys, he'd let Langly touch himself. Let him desperately get off to the way Frohike tasted.

The thought made every muscle in Langly's body shiver.

He'd never given anyone head before, or even imagined it, but the idea of Frohike taking a firm handful of his hair and guiding his efforts was making him dizzy. Frohike probably knew what he was doing in that department, right? He could teach Langly how to do it just the way he liked it. With some practice Langly might even be able to take Frohike completely, learn to ease his throat open until his nose pressed against warm skin. He released his unoccupied hand's death grip on the pillow and rubbed his thumb in a slow circle around the head of his dick—hell, he was so turned on, he was fucking wet—then pressed his sticky finger into his mouth and against his tongue. He imagined it was Frohike he was tasting.

He couldn't decide where he wanted Frohike to finish. On his chest would be amazing—he would get to watch Frohike touch himself, watch the way his body moved when he came, be able to see and feel the proof that he was the one who got Frohike off. On the other hand, holy shit, his mouth, fuck. Maybe not being able to see it would help him hear Frohike coming, take in the moans or gasps or curses. He would be able to feel the pulsations of Frohike's cock against his tongue and heat against the back of his throat.

Would Frohike kiss him after? Probably. He would probably let Langly catch his breath first, though, press kisses against the edges of Langly's messy lips while he gasped. Then he could hold Langly's head in place again, more gently, take his time tasting himself in Langly's mouth.

"You've been so good," Frohike would tell him. He would be on his knees, his entire body aching, jerking himself desperately and choking out half-moans like he was in reality. Maybe Frohike would let him back up onto the bed. Langly could lie on his back, head pillowed on Frohike's outstretched arm while Frohike's other hand touched his chest. He could lean over Langly and they could keep kissing while his calloused fingertips rubbed rough and mean against Langly's nipples.

He pulled his hand away from his mouth and pinched one of his nipples hard with wet fingers. The jolt of pain went right to his dick and he gasped like he was coming up for air after being underwater.

"You're doing so well," Frohike would say. "Being such a good boy for me. You gonna come for me too?" Langly pinched a little harder and twisted, just a tiny bit, just enough to bring the pain right up against the edge of too much.

"Remember, this little show is all mine," Frohike would continue, quiet voice ghosting breath over Langly's ear and neck. "Don't you dare come until I tell you to."

That was what sent Langly overboard. He wailed wordlessly, close to sobbing as his orgasm flared through his entire body, legs tensing until they burned, stomach clenching so hard with the rhythm of it that his shoulders and head left the pillow for a moment. He didn't slow down until he was whimpering from overstimulation, and when he finally let his hand fall aside he was still jolting with tiny aftershocks.

He wondered dazedly if he'd ever busted over something so ironic before.

He let his breathing settle a bit before sitting up—shit, his stomach was wrecked, it was going to be sore to even sit up at his desk for a couple of days. He belatedly realized how disheveled he was, his hair all over the place and his glasses still on but lopsided. He grabbed a handful of tissues out of the box on the nightstand to clean himself up a little. Both of his hands were sticky, and his entire torso was a mess. He came so hard he looked like a fucking toaster pastry.

Once he was less of a total shaky disaster he went ahead and took his glasses off and left them unfolded on the table, yanked his sweaty shirt off and tossed it aside, and kicked his pants the rest of the way off with a groan at the ache of every movement.

His mind wandered back to Frohike's desk and the dice. The idea of Frohike typing away, faltering when Langly leaned over him from behind to slide hands down his chest, cursing at Langly's mouth on his neck, stopping entirely when Langly reached out to take the red dice and scatter them across the desk... it was an extremely good idea.

Before kicking his jeans off the bed entirely Langly reached down and retrieved the pilfered dice. He wasn't going to rush it this time, partially for his own safety but mostly because he was going to be alone for hours. Plenty of time to get it out of his system.

His heart was in his throat and his stomach was in knots as he leaned over to the bedside table and rolled the dice.

 


End file.
